


That Goes Without Saying

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Nebulous Timeline, Pining, Post-Canon, i guess, not quite fluff, not quite smut, something sultry in between i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: Cas's coat was nowhere to be found, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing long, tanned forearms that made Dean’s throat go dry like he was a man in the early 1900s who had just caught an illicit glimpse of his lover’s ankle.  Cas’s tie was gone, too, probably because of the last time he had attempted to cook near an open flame with a flammable piece of fabric hanging from his neck.A quick glance upward would have confirmed that the scorch marks were still there on the ceiling, but Dean’s eyes were occupied with a slow, indulgent scan of Cas’s profile.  His lips were turned downward as he cooked, and not for the first time Dean found himself imagining the way he might touch his fingers to Cas’s lips, watching for the moment the tension left and Dean could press forward and press a kiss to the corner of Cas’s mouth.





	That Goes Without Saying

Dean woke up with a pounding headache that morning. He had begrudgingly let Cas siphon off a little grace into the bruises he’d suffered, but it seemed there was no amount of grace that could magic away the stress left behind from a hunt.

The hunt itself had been rough - werewolves bent on revenge for their slain mates had lured Sam, Dean, and Cas into a trap just a few hundred miles from Lebanon. The werewolves had spent weeks in the area, attacking and turning residents to their cause, and by the time the men had caught up and shot the last werewolf through the heart, the small town and its residents had been devastated.

The men had made the short drive back in silence, their mouths grim lines. They had achieved their goal, but any hunt that left a small town decimated in both population and hope never felt like a success.

Dean stared at the ceiling. The hunt had been bad. When they had gotten back to the bunker, Sam’s shoulders had been hunched in defeat and Cas’s eyes had been glossy and faraway. 

It was this memory that made Dean, despite his headache, climb out of bed, a glance at the clock telling him it was 5:37am. Sam wouldn’t be up for another 20 minutes, and Cas would probably be surfing the internet until one of them summoned him from his room. 

Dean didn’t even bother changing - he walked out of his room in his T-shirt and boxers thinking, _I can’t save that town but I can make breakfast for my family._

Much to his surprise, however, the kitchen was occupied. Dean stopped at the threshold, trying and failing to suppress the grin on his face when he saw Cas at the stove, squinting down at what looked like glue (but was probably pancakes) in his skillet. 

His coat was nowhere to be found, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing long, tanned forearms that made Dean’s throat go dry like he was a man in the early 1900s who had just caught an illicit glimpse of his lover’s ankle. Cas’s tie was gone, too, probably because of the last time he had attempted to cook near an open flame with a flammable piece of fabric hanging from his neck. A quick glance upward would have confirmed that the scorch marks were still there on the ceiling, but Dean’s eyes were occupied with a slow, indulgent scan of Cas’s profile. His lips were turned downward as he cooked, and not for the first time Dean found himself imagining the way he might touch his fingers to Cas’s lips, watching for the moment the tension left and Dean could press forward and press a kiss to the corner of Cas’s mouth.

Dean let his imagination indulge itself for a few seconds, but eventually he sighed loudly, folding his arms and going to stand by Cas’s elbow with an unimpressed look. He saw Cas’s spine straighten, then Cas looked at him with comically wide eyes. He shifted his body so that the gluey mess was blocked from Dean’s view.

Dean snorted, then nudged him away from the stove with a soft bump of a hip. He slid a smile at Cas, though, because hey, the dude tried, didn’t he?

Cas’s answering smile was slow to appear, but it was soft and pleased and Dean secretly thought it made him glow, just a little. He jerked his head toward the table behind him, and Cas disappeared to sit.

As Dean was scraping out the unsalvageable mess of “pancake batter,” however, Cas reappeared, this time with a mug of coffee in his hand. His eyes were kind, and maybe a little apologetic. 

Dean took the mug, knowing that his cheeks were flushed, ready to blame it on the heat from the stove. He took a gulp, just so Cas would stop looking at him, but it backfired when the coffee scalded his throat. 

Scrambling for a cup of water gave him an excuse to turn away, but when he turned back to the pancakes, Cas was there offering him a napkin. 

Dean took it wordlessly, and Cas slipped away. The chair dragged across the floor as he sat down at the table. Dean wiped at his chin and then at his T-shirt. He could feel Cas’s eyes on him and tried to repress a shiver.

 

Sam shuffled in just as Dean was setting the table. There was a plate each of pancakes and bacon and eggs and toast, and Sam stopped at the sight. 

“I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now,” he said wondrously, then, throwing Dean a grateful smile, sat across from Cas and tucked in.

Dean followed suit, sitting to Cas’s right and ignoring the stutter of his heart whenever his elbow knocked against Cas’s. 

Eventually he noticed Cas had stopped browsing on his laptop. He looked sidelong at Cas and saw Cas’s eyes already on him, soft despite the egg yolk at the corner of Dean’s mouth.

Dean stuffed a strip of bacon in his mouth and nodded to the plate in front of Cas. 

Cas’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but once he caught sight of the plate, his mouth twitched. To Dean’s satisfaction, the angel put aside his laptop and wrestled a pancake onto his plate, slathering it with enough syrup to sink the Titanic.

Dean grinned at Sam’s expression of alarm, but neither brother said a word.

When Cas hummed his pleasure, Dean’s grin only grew.

 

Dean washed the dishes. Sam had slipped his plate in with Dean’s, clapping a hand on Dean’s back and slipping away with a guilty little-brother smile. Dean hadn’t even thought to yell after him, not with Cas leaning on the counter next to him, sipping his coffee patiently. The triangle of skin that peeked out from under his collar made Dean glad he had something to do with his hands because the skin that dipped beneath the buttons was practically begging to be explored.

Eventually the last plate was washed. After Dean dried and shelved it, Cas was there at his side, holding out a fresh cup of coffee. Dean took it and patted Cas on the arm in thanks. He fought the urge to leave his hand there. Instead he mirrored Cas, leaning against the counter and surveying the kitchen. 

It was on his second gulp of coffee that he noticed that the table had been wiped clean. He shot a grateful look toward Cas, who adopted a smug expression.

“Good morning,” was all he said.

Dean stared for a few seconds, his mug frozen halfway to his mouth. Then he lowered it to the counter. Cas watched this with a raised eyebrow.

But then Dean slowly lifted two fingers to Cas’s lips, which parted in surprise. Cas’s eyes were wide, his pupils suddenly dark. “Dean,” he murmured, sounding awed. The breath from Cas’s mouth skated over Dean’s fingers, and it made him press them down all the harder.

Dean’s other hand came up to tug open Cas’s collar, and Dean drank in the peek of Cas’s collarbones and what seemed like long, long miles of tanned skin.

The clink of ceramic on tile told Dean that Cas had put his mug down, and that was the only warning he got for the grip that Cas suddenly had on his hip. His other hand tentatively rose to fit around the angle of Dean’s jaw. 

Dean let out a breath. He dropped his hand to Cas’s neck before leaning in to press the barest of kisses to the corner of Cas’s mouth. It was better than Dean had ever imagined, not least because of the way Cas murmured in displeasure when Dean pulled away. Cas’s hand clutched hard at Dean’s hip in a way that made Dean very aware that he was only wearing boxer shorts.

Regardless, he leaned in again, and this time Cas made sure their lips met properly. The kiss was slow and languid, despite the tremor in Dean’s hands that betrayed how much he wanted more. Cas indulged him, pulling him closer, wrapping an arm around Dean’s lower back and pressing harder, a little filthier.

Dean pulled away, but their lips still brushed when he said, his voice soft, “Good morning.”

Cas smiled. His eyes slid to the hallway, where the bedrooms were. “It could be better,” he said reasonably.

Dean’s hands were already at the first of Cas’s buttons. “That goes without saying,” he said, leaning in to leave a kiss at Cas's throat.

Cas didn't bother to answer; he just fisted his hand in the fabric of Dean's T-shirt and hauled him in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> A quick, two-hour attempt at writing something just a little more ~hot and heavy~ than my usual. My fic are usually written quickly and designed to be devoured quickly for maximum fluff payoff - but a few comments from my fic "Keeping It Professional" about the semi-sexy moments in there made me really want to explore just how sultry I could get.
> 
> I don't think I'll ever be a smut writer, but this was a lot of fun. One day I'll dedicate more than just a few hours to a fic and I can really hammer home the ~sexy. Until then, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> [rebloggable link](http://surlybobbies.tumblr.com/post/169956897846/that-goes-without-saying-14k)


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